Priestly Confession
by talon1321
Summary: Nuala and Dermot were staying at a castle that had been converted into a hotel in Ireland when the owner was mysteriously found dead their last night there. Rating for safety. First story.


Priestly Confession

**Disclaimer**: The characters Dermot Michael Coyne and Nuala Anne McGrail do not belong to me. They belong to Andrew Greeley. The story is mine though.

Dermot and Nuala were spending some time alone in the Irish countryside at a castle that had been converted into a hotel, owned by the widowed Siobhan O'Flaherty. On their last night there, Mrs. O'Flaherty turns up dead in her bed, the circumstances surrounding her death a little sketchy. Her parish priest, Father Denis Brady, has agreed to tell them what happened the night before Mrs. O'Flaherty was found dead. Nuala Anne and Dermot Michael are reading his signed confession.

I am priest, but sometimes I question my vows. This was one of those nights. I walked up the path to Mrs. O'Flaherty's house, in-between two cars. One was Mrs. O'Flaherty's that she used to run errands. The other one belonged to a stupid couple from New York or something that I had met the other night and wasn't impressed with. Stupid Yanks. I kicked the car as I passed.

Nuala turned to me, shocked. "New York is it? Oh honestly! It's Chicago, that stupid fucking amadon."

"He kicked our car." I added lamely.

Nuala put her hand on my arm. "Sure isn't that not really the point Derm. He called us stupid Yanks too, and me being born in Carraroe. Mind you, I'm a Yank now but I wasn't always. Honestly, New York?" She mumbled this last part and turned back to the priest's story.

Anyway, Mrs. O'Flaherty had called for confession and I had agreed. Maybe it was my naïve self thinking she would do what I hoped and I didn't care about my vows now. Does that make me selfish? I don't think so. It would be comfort for both of us. You see, she has been sickly for some time and no one knows what's wrong. She was young still, she shouldn't be dying. But He works in mysterious ways and if He wanted to take Mrs. O'Flaherty then He would take her. It didn't help that her older stepchildren didn't really care for her. Daniel and Mary had lives of their own, and had disapproved of Mrs. O'Flaherty's marriage to their father.

I knock on the door, wait for someone to answer, and find her opening the door herself. "Will you come upstairs?"

"Yes, of course Mrs. O'Flaherty."

"How many times must I tell you? My husband is dead. I'm simply Siobhan."

Reluctantly I replied, "Very well Siobhan."

She practically dragged me upstairs, and I didn't fight her. As we got in the upstairs corridor, for some reason, Siobhan looked up and down the hall before she opened the door to her room, pulling me inside before she shut the door. We sat down across from one another.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned…" She gave me her confession, the nature of which I will not share for that is between her and God.

As she finished she looked at me, as if she looked right through me into the depths of my very soul. Siobhan leaned forward, hesitated, and finally kissed me softly. I was startled at first for I had never done this, even when I wasn't a priest. But I had longed for her since the first time I saw her. Siobhan sensed my trepidation and pulled away slightly.

"Father, forgive me. I shouldn't have."

"I am not your priest tonight Siobhan." I whispered. She smiled and I continued. "But I'm afraid I lack the education to do this properly and will probably make a right old fool of myself."

"Then I will educate you." Siobhan smiled slyly at me as she dragged me to the bed.

She never did anything very softly, or subtly for that matter. Without going into detail, I must say I was thoroughly educated. After we were finished, and Siobhan had fallen asleep, I kissed her cheek lightly and left.

Nuala read it once more and looked at me.

"Well?" I began.

"Wasn't she desperate altogether? Seducing the clergy?" She had an impish grin on her face.

I began caressing her, my thoughts wandering to our own bed. "Sure sounds like another Irish woman I know…"

"Pretty sure it was the other way around." She was already almost there, I could tell because she was barely speaking coherently anymore.

"It's you Irish who are the seductresses really."

Nuala was done and we both knew it. Not much more "work" would get done tonight.

"But it just proves," She managed. "He didn't kill her."

"Of course not, he loved her." She opened her eyes, turned to me, and kissed me, sending a fire running though me.

"People claim they love someone when they kill sometimes." She replied, stroking my cheek.

"You're right Holmes. Who did it then?"

"I think I know, but I'm not sure." Clothes were starting to come off and she still wasn't talking straight. "Och, don't stop that Dermot me love."

"Wasn't planning on it."

I carried her to bed where we continued our romp. Sure it could wait until tomorrow.

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